


Mage First, Vampire Last

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bathtubs, Established Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Vampire Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, simon making lists once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: I know something’s wrong when Baz tumbles in the door.A) Baz has never tumbled anywhere in his life.B) There’s blood on his collar.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 20
Kudos: 258





	Mage First, Vampire Last

**SIMON**

I know something’s wrong when Baz tumbles in the door. A) Baz has never  _ tumbled  _ anywhere in his life. B) There’s blood on his collar. 

I sit up on the sofa, dropping my feet onto the floor. “Baz?” 

He doesn’t even look at me as he brushes past me and into my bedroom. He shuts the door before I can even stand up. 

When I do stand up to follow him into my room, the worst possible scenarios are running through my mind - he got hurt while feeding and didn’t heal properly, he accidentally killed a person instead of a rabbit, he accidentally bit  _ himself _ somehow, etc. It’s late - he’s been done with classes for hours - and I don’t know where he’s been.

The door isn’t locked, but I can hear the shower running. Why he came to my flat instead of his own, I’m not sure. (I mean, our water pressure is better, but this doesn’t seem like a situation in which water pressure would be a deciding factor). I knock loudly on the door before pushing it open. “Baz?” I call out. I don’t expect him to answer - I just want to warn him that I’m coming in. 

I walk over and press my ear to the door to the bathroom - all I can hear is the shower at first. Then, a squeak from the tiles, probably from Baz shifting around. Then, I hear it - he’s crying. Baz isn’t a loud crier by any means, but I recognize the sharp intake between sobs, just barely not stifled by the running water. I test the door handle and find that he didn’t lock it.

“Darling,” I say, opening the door just barely. “I’m coming in.” 

“Fuck off, Snow.” It’s quiet, but I can hear the wobble in his voice. 

“No,” I say, setting my jaw and pushing the door open all the way. 

Baz is sitting in the bathtub, still fully clothed, face pressed against his knees where he has them tucked up against his chest. The shower’s running and he’s soaking wet, hair slicked down over his forehead. He hasn’t bothered to shut the shower screen so a not-insignificant percentage of the spray is hitting the tiled floor outside the bathtub. 

He doesn’t look up at me, even though I know I’ve made a racket by opening up the door and stepping in (all the hinges in our flat are squeaky, and the door swings open so fast that it hits the wall just behind it). 

“Baz,” I say for what feels like the fiftieth time in the last four minutes. 

He doesn’t acknowledge my presence except by tucking his legs a little bit closer to himself. 

I decide there’s nothing for it. I’m already shirtless and I’ve been wearing these trackie bottoms for three days now so they could certainly do with a wash. I’m grateful that I had Penny spell my wings before I spent my evening lying on the couch. I climb into the shower with him. The water’s colder than I’m used to when Baz is involved (the bastard likes to burn his skin off).

Baz looks up at me as I sit down in the tub, crossing my legs so I’m not in his space (but we’re in a bathtub so I’m absolutely in his space). The front of my right leg is pressed up against him and now that I’m close, I can see the blood on his collar. It’s a decently large stain, spreading across the collar, the edges of it fading into the white fabric now that it’s soaking wet. The shower spray is hitting my chest and arms, but Baz’s body blocks me from most of the water.

“Hi,” I say softly. 

He crosses his arms over the tops of his knees and presses his face back down into them. “Go away, Simon.” (I know he doesn’t really want me to go because he says my name. Even if he’d said Snow, I’d have stayed). I refuse to leave my boyfriend alone crying in the bathtub. 

“I’m not leaving.” I know I sound like a stubborn brat. 

I carefully press a hand against Baz’s arm, his skin even clammier than usual. The cold water isn’t helping. 

Whatever Baz says next is completely muffled by his wet sleeve. 

“Sorry?” I ask softly. 

Baz huffs and tilts his head up so his chin is pressed in the crease of his elbow. The grey in his eyes is duller than usual and the skin around them is puffy and pink. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers. 

I frown. “You won’t hurt me.” 

Baz shuts his eyes and I lean forward to kiss his forehead gently. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

He doesn’t answer at first, rubbing the material of his wet trousers between his fingers and keeping his eyes shut tight. I put my hand over his, stilling the motion. 

He only opens his eyes to say, “You’re cold.” 

I hold back my eye roll. “So are you. Do you want to get out of the shower and go talk about this in dry clothes?” 

He shakes his head. We stay. 

I brush my hand over his back and start to rub soft circles into his shoulder. He lets out a sigh and leans his head over past his arm so it presses against my collarbone. We’re wasting a lot of water, but Baz is between me and the faucet and I don’t want to crowd him in reaching over for it. I just let the droplets hit us and occasionally wipe them from my face. 

“I wasn’t strong enough,” Baz says quietly. 

I bite my tongue. I want to tell him he’s the strongest person I’ve ever met (not a lie), but I know he has more to say. And if he’s saying it of his own accord, I’m not going to stop him. Usually I’m the one clutching for words. 

“I had a draining day and I needed to feed,” he explains, keeping his forehead pressed against my shoulder. “I drove for as long as I could stand it until I found a forest. I summoned a deer and that took most of what I had left. I tried to drain it quickly, but I miscalculated how strong it was. It tried to get away,” Baz pauses, leaning away from me so he can lift up the side of his shirt, showing me a bruise that I can assume was a lot darker an hour earlier. Still, it isn’t pretty. 

I gently run my fingertips over the edge of the bruise and Baz continues. 

“I wasn’t strong enough for a clean kill, and when it tried to get away, it-” He stops. 

I can imagine what happened. 

“It suffered,” he says, pushing his shirt back down and moving my hand out of the way. “I killed it too late - I was so thirsty and barely realized it was still alive while I was drinking. Or maybe I did realize and I didn’t care. I was so thirsty.” 

Tightening my hold around Baz’s shoulder and moving my legs out of their previously crossed position so I can press them on either side of Baz, I pull him closer to me. He’s sitting sideways in the bathtub so it’s a little awkward, but I end up with his shoulder and half of his back pressed against my chest and his feet tucked under my calf. 

When I’m sure that he’s not going to explain any more (his shoulders are softly shaking from the weight of his silent sobs), I kiss the back of his head. 

“Baz,” I say. I guess I don’t know what else to say.

“I’m a monster,” he breathes.

“You’re not,” I say immediately. 

He slumps further into my arms, turning so his back is fully pressed against my chest. I slip my hands around his waist and try to pretend we’re just taking a bath together. That’s hard to do when the steady stream of shower water is still hitting both of us and Baz is crying in my arms. 

“My mother would have hated who I am.” 

We come around to this far too often for my liking. We could never mention it again - add it to the list of things Baz and I don’t talk about - and I’d be content. Whenever Baz is particularly upset, this is his way to convince himself that he’s a monster. 

“She loved you, Baz. She has continued to love you -  _ every  _ part of you. She told me herself,” I whisper, pressing my face into his damp hair. 

“I’m a vampire, Simon!” He twists in my arms to look at me, his eyes hitting mine sharply. 

“So?” 

Baz blinks a few times and takes a shaky breath. “It’s all I’m ever going to be.” 

I tighten my hold around his waist. “That’s not true, darling. There are at least eleven things I’d label you as before just a vampire.” 

Baz hums softly and sadly, tucking his head under my chin. That’s his you’re-sweet-but-I-don’t-believe-you hum. 

“Baz,” I say softly. The words tumble out of me. “First and foremost, you’re a mage. You’re  _ full  _ of magic - full of the knowledge of magic. I used to make note of anyone wasting magic,” I pause and add, “I still do sometimes.”

Baz lets out a particularly violent sob.

“You are the worst culprit. You use magic to toast bread in the morning, to revive the plants in the windowsill when I haven’t taken good enough care of them, and even to solve the crossword puzzle section that you’re stuck on. I know you think I don’t notice but I do.”

Baz still isn’t saying anything and I shift one of my hands around to tuck under his wet shirt, rubbing his stomach lightly. 

“Second, you’re an incurable smirker.” 

“Not a word,” Baz insists under his breath. 

“Shut up. Third, you’re a snarky bastard. I’m not sure how you do it but you have the perfectly curated insult laying on the tip of your tongue at a moment’s notice. Fourth, you’re an ace sexual partner.” 

Baz’s shoulders shake and I’m not sure if it’s another silent sob or a laugh. 

“You know you’re good at it,” I say, smiling. I continue to rub my hand over the slight swell of his stomach and try to warm him up. It’s fucking cold. “Fifth, you’re an ice pack when it’s extra hot outside.” 

Baz nudges his shoulder against my chest. 

“It’s only a bother when you put your cold feet on me,” I tease. “But even then, I still like it.” 

I don’t think I’ve talked this much in the last four days combined. 

“Sixth- am I on six?” 

Baz nods his head just barely. His hands are wrapped around my back and they’re cold against my skin.

“Right. Sixth, you’re the biggest snob I know. You own more Burberry than anyone I’ve ever met. You wear cufflinks more than once a month. You come from the poshest family in the entire United Kingdom. Seventh- are you sick of this yet?” 

Tilting his head up so he can actually look at me, Baz shakes his head. He’s still crying (although maybe his face is wet from the shower?), but his eyes have cleared up. He kisses my cheek before tucking his head back under my chin and pressing his mouth to my collarbone.

“Seventh, you’re a very good cuddler. I promise I won’t repeat it to anyone,” I say before pressing a kiss to his head again. “But cuddling you is one of life’s greatest joys. You’re quite good.” 

I can tell it’s a laugh shaking his shoulders this time. 

“Eighth, you’re an amateur fashion Instagram influencer. Well, maybe not even amateur. Your thousands of followers would beg to differ.” 

I’ve never prepared this list before now. Of course, I’ve thought about who Baz is and what I think of him as, but I’ve never laid it out like this before. I feel intensely vulnerable telling him all this, but if it makes him feel better, it’s right worth it. 

“Ninth, you’re a proper housewife.” 

“What the fuck, Simon?” he asks against my neck. 

I grin. “Shut up and listen. You make me tea, you clean the counter when I spill things on it, you wear that frilly apron. I could go on and on,” I say. I clear my throat before starting again. “Tenth, you’re an undercover dog person.” 

Baz starts to talk. 

“Don’t try and argue with me about this, Basilton. I see the way you look at our neighbor’s golden retriever. And I know you stop by the dog park on your way home at least twice a week. You can try and convince people you’re a cat person all you want, but I refuse to believe it.” I continue to run my hand over his stomach. (Baz can’t be a cat person - he  _ is  _ a cat). “Eleventh, you are a shitty roommate. Do I need to explain that one?” 

I can feel Baz smile against my chest and he shakes his head. He sits up a bit, still mostly pressed against me. 

“I have more. Do you need them?”

Baz kisses me carefully. “I don’t think so.” 

I grin and jokingly start again. “Twelfth, you’re a fucking-” 

Baz cuts me off with his finger against my mouth. “I get it, darling. And just so you know, I look at our neighbor’s golden retriever like that because he reminds me of you.” 

_ Christ, I love him so much. _ I smile and press my forehead against his. “Can we turn off the water now? Have you been drowning for long enough?” 

Baz reaches back and shuts off the water. I help him stand up and take his clothes off while we’re still in the tub so he doesn’t drip all over the floor. 

“Here,” I say, finding the stain on the collar of his white shirt once he’s taken it off. I lift it up so he can spit on it. (Baz and I have spent a lot of time trying to get blood out of clothing). 

Once we’re both out of our wet clothes, I wrap Baz in a towel and take him to my bed. He’s still a little shaky (emotionally. Physically, he’s strong, thanks to draining an entire deer), so I help him lie down and I cover him with blankets. His head barely pokes out of the covers and I have to stifle my desire to laugh. He looks well cute. 

Baz doesn’t say thank you - he doesn’t need to. When I turn away to go put our clothes in the wash, he reaches out and grabs my wrist. He looks at me, the puffiness of his eyes mostly gone and the colour a clear grey now, boring into mine. I slide my wrist out of his grip so I can hold his hand in mine. I squeeze tightly. 

I leave him to clean up the water by the shower and to put our wet clothes into the wash, changing into pajama bottoms before I join Baz in bed. He’s partly asleep but he turns and pushes half of the blankets over the top of me. I curl him into my arms, tugging his hips so his back is pressed against me, officially rendered the little spoon. He grabs one of my hands.

I kiss the back of his head and close my eyes. 

“You’re not a monster,” I say quietly. 

Baz tightens his grip on my hand. 

“And if you  _ are _ ,” I add. “I’m one too. Because-” 

“Because  _ we match _ ,” Baz interrupts, turning in my hold just enough to kiss my chin. “You absolute softie.” 

I smile and kiss his cheek. I hold him closer and wait until his breath has evened out before I let myself fall asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t stop making them call each other darling. sorry. it’s just who I am.
> 
> (also my gf wanted me to give her a shoutout in the next fic I posted because she's a huge dork - so hi babe)


End file.
